


regret roulette (time to rewrite my story)

by eab5c5



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dystopia, Eventual Happy Ending, Faked Suicide, Illusions, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Making Up, Memory Magic, Mind Manipulation, Regret, Sci-Fi Elements, Square: Illusion, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eab5c5/pseuds/eab5c5
Summary: Paendedisco is a psychological phenomenon in which a person "forgets" everything they regret in life. The only way to retrieve these memories is through a Forced Remembrance, typically performed by a Sharer, someone with magic-like abilities to delve into a person's mind. Such rituals are strictly prohibited by law due to the intense emotional and psychological damage that they may cause the afflicted person.
Relationships: Na Jaemin/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: THE COLLECTION





	regret roulette (time to rewrite my story)

**Author's Note:**

> paendedisco is made up (paen = "regret" in latin, dedisco = "forget / unlearn" in latin, both of these translations were taken from google i am sorry) // also, a Sharer is a name given to those with the power to help a person afflicted with paendedisco to remember what they have forgotten through stranger powers (mind manipulation, illusions, etc.) and almost psychological torture
> 
> warnings: this is not tagged mcd as one half of the pairing faked suicide, though the other half does believe they're actually dead for a moment. there is also an implied suicide of a minor character. 
> 
> p.s. - i initially turned this in as a creative writing assignment with the names changed so if anyone from my cw class recognizes this plz look away and don't say anything thank you aksfjhkjdshsb
> 
> also !! title is from regret roulette by unlike pluto (great song & great artist pls check it out !!!)

The light above Chenle’s head flickers as a train rumbles over the underground room. The sound of everything shaking almost overpowers the buzz of the fixture.

His hands tremble as he grips the sides of his metal chair with white knuckles, and the man across from him smiles as the train chugs away, the shuddering of the walls fading into a dull, fleeting sensation.

“Still feeling up to it?” the man asks him, pushing platinum blonde hair away from his eyes. “You’re looking a little green.” 

Chenle shakes his head, doubling down in his seat.

“I’m fine.” he huffs. He's annoyed - the man is clearly enjoying his squirming - and tries to steady his breathing to make sure he doesn’t faint on the spot. It doesn’t help that the man only serves to set Chenle’s nerves crackling with anxiety.

They call him Rabbit. A n infamous Sharer who “works” in the underbelly of the city. Like all other Sharers - few and far in between as they are - he’s the catalyst to assist others seeking their lost memories. 

Their regrets.

The Sharers first started cropping up a few months after the medical world shared their findings of a new mental affliction, the Paendedisco Phenomenon. A psychological occurrence in which a person “forgets” everything they regret in life. It was theorized that this was the brain’s way of protecting the body by blocking out memories that often came with extreme anger, sorrow and grief. 

What makes Paendedisco different from other issues is that the memories themselves can only be retrieved through a Forced Remembrance, which in turn can only be performed by a Sharer, someone with strange, almost-magical abilities to reach into someone’s mind and pull the blocked memories up to the surface of their consciousness. These rituals were quickly prohibited under strict law due to their potential effect of intense emotional and psychological damage to the person remembering their past regrets. Any Sharers who wished to continue the practice were forced to go under the radar, and years later, have achieved a status of high-level criminals actively sought out by the government. 

But even then the people want to remember.

People like Chenle, who had never even heard about Rabbit until just a few months ago. Mostly because he made a habit of not getting involved in illegal business. But back then he hadn’t had a reason to meet a Sharer. Now he does. 

There’s a chunk of memories gone from his head, like he’s missing every few chapters of a book and the ending just doesn’t make sense without them.

He’d learned about Rabbit through a friend, Jeno, who’d visited the sharer himself a few weeks previous. Chenle didn’t ask him about it, but Jeno had told him, and the niggling voice in the back of his head wouldn’t stop reminding Chenle about it. About how he could also remember the things his mind has forgotten.

Chenle knows the risks he’s taken by coming here. He knows the consequences of whether he follows through with the ritual or not. There’s no turning back now.

Rabbit grins at him, teeth too sharp in the fluorescent, flickering blue light. The man almost looks like a demon with the dark mask he wears over half his face. His dark eyes shine in the shadows. 

He places a single handgun on the table. Silver, reflective, deadly.

It's a reminder of what will happen to Chenle if he doesn’t keep his promise that this meeting is a secret, and Rabbit doesn’t exist. At least in the eyes of the public. 

“Let’s get started then."

  
  


+++

  
  


The first regret is...not what Chenle expects.

In retrospect he wasn’t really sure _what_ to expect in the first place, since he can’t remember what his brain has chosen to forget.

Before the memory even started Rabbit had given him a choice.

_'Forget,' Rabbit held up his right hand, fingers forming a faux gun and pointing it straight at Chenle's forehead. 'Or be forgotten.' He nodded towards the real weapon on the table. It's over the top dramatic, and still managed to send shivers down Chenle's spine. That choice had been easy._

Rabbit mimed shooting him and Chenle’s body went slack in his chair as the magic flooded through his system. Forcibly entering a forgotten memory felt like being dropped into the ocean. A sensation similar to cold, heavy water surrounded him, and his limbs felt like dead weights, hanging limply at his sides. 

The last thing he could see before his eyes slipped shut was Rabbit smiling at him from across the table.

Upon opening his eyes Chenle immediately recognized his childhood home, the one he had lived in from infancy to about the age of seventeen. The only two members of the household were him and his mother.

Chenle finds himself taking a step forward. 

Then another. 

He’s not moving his body on his own. It feels more like he’s possessing himself. He’s a backseat driver who has no control, and can only look out at what’s happening around him. 

When his gaze moves over the pictures lining the hallway he finds the faces in them too blurry to recognize. The shadows on the walls are a little too faint, the wallpaper almost too vibrant to be real. (They say that a Sharer has access to your memories and that’s how they create the visual illusion, but there’s always something off about it, like someone painting a picture based on a photograph and not seeing the actual subject in person.)

Chenle turns into the living room and hears the clatter of something being dropped in the kitchen.

His perspective shifts as he sits down. 

The couch feels different than he remembers in his other memories. His body moves on its own to turn on the television, broadcasting the latest breaking news. 

He hears a sigh come from the kitchen. It sounds pained. Sad.

No matter how hard he tries he can’t lift his head to search for its source. He wants to check on whoever the sigh came from, but no matter how much he tries he can’t break away from his pre-determined motions. 

Right.

This is supposed to be something he regrets. He’s just remembering things, not fixing them.

Footsteps shuffle out of the kitchen, and in the corner of his eye Chenle can see the familiar dark blue of his mother’s uniform. Her shoes are scuffed and he thinks he can see her wearing two different socks. The station in their town doesn’t get much funding and it’s obvious with the way its officers dress.

She stands in the entrance of the living room and he can feel her watching him quietly.

“Chenle, I’m leaving now.”

He hums to acknowledge her, but that’s it. The response is obviously noncommittal as he sinks further into the couch, distracted by his phone. His fingers move, tapping blurry letters on the keyboard as he sends a message to someone. They’re not even that important, because he can’t remember who he was talking to that day or why talking to them had apparently been more pressing than his own mom.

“I won’t be back until after midnight. I’ve got another late shift. There’s some food in the fridge in case you get hungry.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Please make sure to lock the house when I’m gone.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I love you, right?”

Chenle finally looks up at her. Her posture is strained, like she’s hiding something, but he’s not keen enough to notice it. At least, he wasn’t then. He blinks and tilts his head, and feels a smile sliding onto his face. 

“I know. I love you too.”

At least he said that. At least he told her he loved her, but that’s not what he regrets. He remembers now what happened later that day. 

He regrets letting her walk out the door. He regrets not asking if she was okay, or even something as simple as asking if she needed a hug. Something, anything to avoid what had happened.

He can feel himself starting to get pulled out of the memory. 

There’s a brief flash, like a video fast forwarding, and he catches a news story on the television as the scene starts to fade. _'Local enforcement station hit by explosion, 4 dead, 2 injured, under investiga...'_

  
  


+++

  
  


Chenle comes back to the land of the living with a loud gasp, bolting upright in his chair. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the static in his ears until he can hear the buzzing of the light fixture again.

“Back so soon?”

Chenle opens his eyes to see Rabbit grinning at him. He’s leaning forward with his hands clasped together, resting his chin on top of them and regarding Chenle with amusement in his eyes.

It takes another moment for Chenle’s brain to catch up with the rest of him.

He swallows, mouth dry, “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Really? If it wasn’t so important, why did you have it locked up in your head in the first place?”

Chenle looks away and eventually settles on shrugging. He doesn’t have to explain himself. That’s not part of the process. Rabbit is just being deliberately obtuse.

“Fine, you got me. Just because it’s a bigger deal than I said it was doesn’t mean I have to talk about it with you.” he scowls.

Rabbit shrugs and smirks, “You’re right. No need to explain when I already know.”

Of course, he’s been inside Chenle’s head. Chenle shudders, wondering if Sharers can see everything - every memory, every fact, every molecule that makes up a person’s DNA - or just the memories they’ve been tasked with finding. He doesn’t know if either answer would make him feel any better.

“Ready for another one?” Rabbit asks.

“Already?”

“We can’t just sit around here for hours waiting to move on,” Rabbit looks at him plainly, eyebrow raised, before picking up the handgun and twirling it around his finger. Like it isn’t a loaded and dangerous weapon. “Either you’re ready to remember something else even more unpleasant, or you’re ready to forget everything and say bye-bye to being alive.” He places the weapon back on the table and smiles sharply. “Your choice.”

Chenle shifts in his seat, even more uncomfortable with Rabbit’s disinterested gaze. Of course, Chenle is just one of hundreds who have come to him seeking their lost pasts. What makes Chenle any different from the rest of them? Nothing. He isn’t even a blip on this guy’s radar, and that’s the truth. Chenle came here with the goal of remembering, and if he doesn’t follow through with it now then he must face the consequences. 

He squares his shoulders and leans forward on his elbows, mirroring Rabbit’s previous posture.

“I’m ready.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Rabbit smirks and pulls the invisible trigger once more.

Magic swirls around the room, and it sounds like wind.

Chenle’s head slams onto the table as he’s whisked away into yet another vision. 

  
  


+++

  
  


“You know, we used to be really good friends.”

Chenle opens his eyes and he’s standing on a subway platform. He recognizes the muted colors of the tiled floor and the posters lining the curved walls. It’s busy, but the faces of everyone walking past him are blurred to the point of making him uneasy.

“Yeah…” he says, finally turning to give his attention to the person in front of him.

Their face is clear, in stark clarity. Mark Lee.

Mark had been one of Chenle’s closest friends in childhood. Their parents both worked at the same enforcement office, Mark’s father a high-ranking officer above Chenle’s mother. His father had been one of the casualties of the office explosion a year previous, the day that Chenle had just remembered after so many years.

Slowly, Chenle starts to remember bits and pieces of this moment as well, and he wonders how he could have forgotten in the first place.

Mark smiles at him. It’s an awkward expression, and it tries to hide something else, something more emotional. Chenle didn’t know what it was back then, but he sees it now. Hurt. Nervousness. Not knowing how to interact with someone you used to know.

“I wondered why you never texted or called,” Mark says. He scratches the back of his neck and Chenle can feel his palms sweating. They had promised to keep in touch when Mark moved countries with his mother, and Chenle had never followed through. Mark peers at him from under his recently dyed hair. It’s frizzily red. “Did you ever get my messages?”

Chenle lies.

“No. Sorry,” he swallows around the words and they feel like glass. Inside his head he’s trying so hard to say something else, but he can’t. “I dropped my phone in the river right after you left. They weren’t able to recover my contacts, and I had to get a new phone number.” The same phone he had before Mark left is currently sitting in his back right pocket. It feels like a brand. 

Chenle could never bring himself to talk to Mark, not after Mark’s father died. Not after he found out the reason it happened had been related to Chenle himself. He thinks now, that he had been punishing himself for what happened by not talking to him. 

He’s lost in thought for long enough that he doesn’t realize the memory has kept moving until Mark speaks again.

“Chenle?” Mark tilts his head quizzically to a spot next to him. “Who’s your friend?”

Chenle turns and sees a blurry-faced figure just a foot or two away from him. He shakes his head, and faces Mark again.

“Um, this is-” As he says the person’s name the subway announcement system crackles to life, drowning out his voice so much that even he can’t catch the name coming out of his mouth. He tries to say it again, but his lips stay firmly shut.

Mark looks between them, and Chenle swears the faceless boy has gotten closer. They’re shoulder to shoulder, different from the way him and Mark are standing apart.

“Oh...I guess we grew apart more than I thought.” Mark eventually says. He smiles ruefully and hoists his backpack further up his shoulder, and Chenle aches to apologize.

The words coming out of his mouth taste like ash, “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Mark looks at him like he has more to say, but instead he closes his mouth as the mysterious figure puts a hand on Chenle’s shoulder, effectively stealing his memory self’s attention. Anything to get his focus away from the crumbling remains of his relationship to Mark. Chenle is pretty sure it had already been ruined the day they both lost a parent, or maybe it was when Chenle never returned any of Mark’s calls, content to remain silent an ocean away from him. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watches Mark as the boy shuffles on his feet before starting to walk away. Mark waves one last time -  _ goodbye, it was nice seeing you _ \- and disappears into the faceless crowd. 

  
  


+++

  
  


Waking up the second time is like pulling himself out of thick tar. Tiredness seeps into every part of Chenle as he groans, cheek pressed against the table from his head slipping sideways while under the illusion. His forehead throbs and he knows it’ll be bruised tomorrow.

Rabbit doesn’t have much sympathy for him, laughing quietly as Chenle hides his eyes behind his arm. The light is still too bright.

When Rabbit asks if he’s ready to go again Chenle is smart enough to leave his head on the table when he says yes.

  
  


+++

  
  


After the fourth or fifth memory Chenle starts to lose track of how many there have been. 

Each moment of waking up and plunging back into his own mind is disorienting. At one point, after waking up, he worries the residual nausea might get to him and he’ll puke on his own shoes. The confusion doesn’t help. A few times now he’s had trouble discerning whether or not he’s really awake, or if he’s gotten lost in another one of the Sharer’s illusions.

One thing he does know is that eventually the memories started shifting focus from isolated, unrelated regrets to ones that seemed to link together, forming one big picture. It’s like Chenle is relearning all the pieces that make up a puzzle, one at a time.

He didn’t know if his regrets were going to be few or many going into this, but he hadn’t expected almost all of them to be intertwined. 

  
  


+++

  
  


Another memory. A nother regret.

“Do you think the world is better?”

“Compared to what?”

“Don’t you mean when?”

“I guess…”

“Is the world better now than it was before?”

“Before what?”

“You know what.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Chenle looks over at the boy sitting next to him. His face is blurred, but he knows it’s the same boy from a previous memory, the one at the subway station, but he still can’t remember who the boy is or why he’s here. A classmate, maybe, since they both seem to be studying at the same table in this memory.

Chenle’s gaze leaves the boy and wanders around what looks to be a library. They’re in study hall. The librarian watches them like a hawk, and Chenle tilts his head back down to his math homework. Korean literature passages and art history flutter across the page and it’s confusing enough to make Chenle want to close his eyes.

Instead his hand moves to fill in a multiple choice bubble he can’t see.

He leans closer to the boy next to him.

“I guess it is,” he says quietly, making sure the librarian can’t hear him.

“Why do you say that?” The boy’s voice is low, but inquisitive. He’s curious about Chenle’s answer, and it makes him nervous because he can’t see what expression is on the boy’s face. He doesn’t know if the boy wants to judge him or listen to him. 

The librarian flips through her catalogue. A camera in the right corner of the ceiling turns to face them. (Or is that its normal path?)

“Everything’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

“...not really.”

“The news-”

“You mean the news that’s allowed.”

“ _The news_ says crime rates have dropped significantly. We’re in a time of peace.”

“Or is that just what they want you to think?”

Chenle glares at the boy. He wishes he could just see his face. Remembrance slowly creeps back, and he knows now what the boy is talking about, but back then he didn’t -  _couldn't_ \- recognize it. He didn’t want to. It was akin to treason, and Chenle was scared.

“What are you implying?” he asks instead, even though he knows the answer. He asks, because the security camera hasn’t moved, and the librarian is watching them over the top of her magazine. He can see her finger twitch over the phone on her desk, and Chenle is scared.

The boy knows this too.

Among the blurred lines of his face Chenle thinks he sees the boy smile.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  
  


+++

  
  


Soon after the library Chenle is tumbling into another memory.

“Chenle! Come on!”

A voice rings out between the trees in front of him. He recognizes it as the boy’s voice even though he can’t see him yet. Chenle runs in the direction where it came from, leaves and sticks crunching beneath his boots. His breath crystallizes in the cold morning air.

They’re in the woods just outside of the city. Miles and miles of thick, dense tree line that stretch over valleys and hills.

They’re not supposed to be here.

Chenle passes a wide tree and finds the boy sitting on a fallen trunk a few feet in the air.

“Took you long enough.” the boy calls out teasingly, and Chenle huffs, staring up at him. His face is still blurred, but not as much as it was before. Now he can actually tell where his mouth, eyes and nose are, even if the details are lost.

“You’re the one who ran ahead of me.” Chenle grumbles.

The boy laughs and pats a spot on the tree trunk next to him. It takes a minute for Chenle to get a good hold on the soft bark and pull himself up. Some patches are rough, and others covered in thick moss. By the time he’s managed to sit next to the boy he’s sweating inside his jacket, and his face is flushed red.

“Wow, you’re really out of shape.”

“Shut up,” Chenle shoves his shoulder. They fall silent, Chenle gathering his breath and the boy sitting, kicking his feet and enjoying the quiet. Chenle swallows, willing his nerves to go away. Talking to the boy has made him forget that they’re really not supposed to be in the forest. “Why are we here?” he asks. 

Remembrance starts to dribble through the cracks of Chenle’s memory.

The boy turns to him.

“No one can hear us.”

Chenle looks around. His eyes travel over the trees and up to the canopy. He’s looking for something to stop the conversation. A hidden camera, or a fake tree. He doesn’t find anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there was something there. Always hidden, always watching.

“How do you know that?” he whispers.

He’s giving the boy an inch, which he’ll take and eventually run further than a mile. Further than the distance between the earth and the sky and anything beyond.

“It’s the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re only a mile away from the city.”

“And no one is here.”

Chenle looks back at the boy. He squints, wishing he could see his face. What expression is he wearing right now? His tone sounds like irritation laced with fondness.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I have to tell you something.”

His heart thumps loudly in his chest. He doesn’t want to hear what the boy has to say. At least, he didn’t then. But he wants to now. Either way he’s still forced to listen, because the boy starts talking, and even back then Chenle didn’t turn away. The boy speaks of treason and betrayal to the government, of wishes for a better life, somewhere far away from here, and in this memory Chenle’s throat tightens and tastes like iron. It feels like ice has dropped somewhere inside his chest. He’s confused, and just as scared as he was before. Back then he didn’t understand the boy’s hatred for how they were living. It just didn’t make sense to him.

This moment would be the turning point if Chenle could relive his life.

This is where he would have agreed. Or, at the very least, he would not have done what he did after that. They would have remained together, there, sitting on the tree, and stayed together after that as well. 

But Chenle is not reliving his life, he’s watching it.

And this is the part where he runs away.

  
  


+++

  
  


Chenle had thought he would eventually recognize the boy frequenting his memories. It’s clear now that he plays an important role in the things Chenle has forgotten, but even now, when the boy’s face is almost visible, Chenle still doesn’t know who he is.

If these weren’t memories he would ask.

Except he’s afraid to know. He’s afraid to find out just who exactly this boy is and what he means to him, because each newly dug up memory centers more and more around him, which means the boy is important. So important that Chenle did something he so deeply regrets his brain decided to forget everything about him.

In his memories the boy is blonde. Chenle doesn’t know if his hair is dyed or genetically modified. His blurred gaze is warm when directed at him, like melted chocolate. And he’s familiar with Chenle, tactile in a way no one else is, always putting an arm around Chenle’s shoulders or brushing their arms together. He sits far too close and leans into Chenle’s space like he always has some secret to tell, just for the two of them.

And in every memory, without fail, Chenle can feel his pulse quicken, his cheeks warm.

This boy is important in a way no one else has ever been important to Chenle.

And it scares him.

Like anyone who’s ever been scared before, he did something he regretted because of it.

  
  


+++

  
  


This memory is different because the boy isn’t next to him.

Chenle is sitting in a chair in a small grey room by himself. The chair is made of metal, and uncomfortable, and the lights are too bright. He keeps his head tilted down - to shield his eyes? or out of shame? - until someone opens the door. 

It’s an enforcement officer. Chenle doesn’t have to look up to know this. He can see the man’s cuffed uniform pants and the shine of his shoes. (They’re not the same as his mother’s. Her shoes were the opposite, old and dirty.) 

He gulps and grips the edge of the chair, a familiar reaction. For a moment he can’t tell the difference between memory and reality. He wonders, for a moment, if he’s about to face the officer or Rabbit.

He looks up when the man sits down.

It’s the officer.

He smiles at Chenle, trying to be reassuring even though Chenle’s eyes are immediately drawn to the stun gun attached to his arm.

“Don’t worry, Chenle. You’re not in any trouble. It’s very brave of you to come forward like this,” the man says. Chenle nods, feeling sick to his stomach. “I know it must be hard. You feel like you’re betraying your friend. We’re going to do all we can to help him, but you need to tell us what you know.”

Right. Chenle is the one who burst into the enforcement station that night. He’s the one that couldn’t keep it secret any longer. He couldn’t hide the boy’s secrets any longer. He believes he has to do what’s right. What is good. 

He looks down at the table again.

It’s just a man sitting across from him. A man, and the eyes of a security camera in the corner, and the weight of what he’s about to do.

He wants to cry.

Instead, he swallows, wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans, and opens his mouth.

He tells the enforcement officer everything.

The entire time he speaks Chenle feels sick. He feels dirty. Like a traitor. Even though he’s sure he’s doing the right thing. (Is he?)

When the officer claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’s done a wonderful job Chenle barely pays attention. He is hollow and exhausted. The officer tells him that he’s free to go home, and that they’ll be reaching out to him later. They’ll need his help.

_For the glory and safety of our beautiful country._

_Thank you for your contribution._

  
  


+++

  
  


Chenle wonders how long he’s been trapped inside his head now. The memories seem to stretch on forever, and the more he remembers the more he wishes he didn’t come to meet Rabbit in the first place. He has to remind himself that this is what he wanted. Consequences be damned, even if his worldview was shattered, at least he would know the truth.

He still hopes this is the final memory.

The scene is dark. It reminds him of the room with Rabbit - dingy, dirty and hidden from prying eyes. Only this place is out in the open. A rooftop in the middle of the night, barely lit by the safety lights of a nearby building. 

Chenle doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t remember any reason he could have for standing on the roof of a five story building in the middle of a deserted town that he doesn’t even recognize.

Slowly, his memory starts to come back, piece by piece. Chenle knows that there are people with him, hidden behind the door that leads onto the roof. People with guns and government affiliation and no mercy.

They’re here for the boy standing on the edge.

The boy Chenle ratted out in that overly bright interrogation room.

Chenle knows him. He knows he’s important. The boy’s name is on the tip of his tongue, like lethologica. It’s the same boy from all the previous memories, who talked with him in the library and ran with him through the woods and spoke in radical tongue to him. _Why can't Chenle remember his name?_

“J----n, please!” He calls the boy’s name, but it’s sound is lost to his ears. It’s like distorted audio, blipping out so he can only catch the first and last sounds of it. “I just want to talk.” he pleads. He can feel the emotion welling up now, acrid in his throat. He’s remembering bit by bit, and he knows he’s about to do something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.

The boy turns around, and his face is as clear as day.

Chenle first notices his dark eyes, wounded and deep, shadowed by exhaustion. Then the brittle smile that twists agonizingly in Chenle’s gut like a knife. The boy’s hair is as white as the face of the moon and his features as sharp as ice, and Chenle can feel his heart beating out of his chest. This boy is dangerous, and sad, and Chenle knows that he is the most important person in the world to him.

But he didn’t know it then.

“Don’t lie to me, Chenle,” says the boy, and Chenle finally notices the tears dripping down his cheeks. A moment later Chenle realizes he’s crying as well.

His voice shakes when he speaks again, and he says, “I’m not.” Even though that’s a lie too. Every lie is another regret.

The boy shakes his head.

Then he smiles.

“Goodbye.”

“No!”

Everything after that moves in slow motion.

The boy holds out his arms, figure shrouded in moonlight, and lets himself tip back over the edge of the roof. The door behind Chenle explodes open as the enforcement crew moves in, weapons drawn as they charge towards the spot where the boy had just been standing.

And Chenle is running, running towards the edge of the roof and collapsing. He almost falls over before one of the men grabs him by the back of his shirt, and Chenle is screaming at the ground, at the body laying twisted on the cement in a puddle of dark red blood, and his tears fall all the way to the earth.

“J---n! Jae--n!  _ Jaemin! _ ”

  
  


+++

  
  


Chenle takes a shuddering breath and opens his eyes. 

He knows immediately that he’s awake now. That he’s well and truly finished the torturous journey of remembering. 

He blinks, realizing there are tears in his eyes. His face is itchy and red, and he’s not just crying, he’s _sobbing_.  Full body shudders and heavy gasps. Grief is squeezing his heart in a vice and he just can’t stop it.

He must have fallen out of his chair at some point because now he’s curled up on the floor. His head is laying in someone’s lap.

Chenle grips that person’s hand as tight as he can, until his fingernails are digging into their skin. The ringing in his ears starts to fade away and he can finally hear his own voice. When had he started talking? 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jaemin. I’m so sorry.” He can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. He’s staring at the wall, and he can’t bring himself to look anywhere else. 

He remembers now. He remembers the mask and the blonde hair and the crooked smile walking into this. And he remembers the boy who used to knock their knees together and wrap an arm around Chenle’s shoulders so easily. He remembers the boy who had so much to fight for, so much fire and determination that Chenle had regrettably snuffed out.

It is the same boy who takes up half of Chenle’s brain.

His biggest regret.

The most important person in his little, broken world.

Rabbit -  _ Jaemin? _ \- reaches out to gently brush the hair away from his face as Chenle continues to cry. He leans down to whisper in his ear, and Chenle whimpers.

He expects to be laughed at, or maybe the boy will finally use this as his chance for revenge. But that’s Rabbit. Not Jaemin, _never_ Jaemin, who he can see smiling in the corner of his eye, and this time there’s no edge to it. Just fondness, and regret and something else that Chenle could never find a name for until now.

The image of Jaemin flickers as more tears fill his eyes. 

“I know. It’s okay.”

Chenle can’t tell if it’s Rabbit or Jaemin or someone else speaking, but something in him finally breaks right then and there. 

“I forgive you.”

And another part of him begins to heal.


End file.
